“It may relieve me a little, Gerald, but I am past permanent help.”
“Don’t say that, father!” said the boy, much moved. “You will live a long time.”
“No; I shall deceive myself with no such expectation. Don’t think I fear death. It has only one bitterness for me.”
The boy looked at his father inquiringly, anxiety wrinkling his brow.
“It is,” resumed the sick man, “that I shall leave you unprovided for. You will have to fight the battle of life alone.”
“I am young and strong.”
“Yes, but I would like to have left you in better condition. It is possible I may do so. I wrote some time since to a man who is rich and prosperous, and is under great obligations to me, telling him about you and asking him, as I had a right to ask him, to befriend you.”
Gerald looked surprised.
“Why has he never helped you?” he asked.